Newspapers / Mars Hill University Student … / Jan. 23, 1945, edition 1 / Page 2
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Page 2. THE HILLTOP, MARS HILL COLLEGE, MARS HILL, NORTH CAROLINA. January 23, 1946 ^ CTlie Hilltop Plain Living and High Thinking Published by the Students of Mars Hill College, Mars Hill, North Carolina. Entered as second-class matter February 20, 1926, at the Post Office at Mars Hill, North Carolina, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Issued semi-monthly during the college year. Subscription Rate Year $1.00 MEMBER OF ASSOCIATED COLLEGIATE PRESS STAFF Editor-in-Chief Bob Chapman Associate Editor Lillian Miller Managing Editor Ted Hethcock Sports Editor Sigsbee Miller Faculty Advisers Louise Vaughan . J. A. McLeod CONTRIBUTORS Howie Bingham . Eunice Smith . Mary Sue Middleton . Marian Ballard . Phyllis Ann Gentry . Dixie Hawkins . Wilhelmina Rish Jane Wright . Clyde McLeod . J. C. Fagan BUSINESS STAFF Business Manager Nathan LeGrand Advertising Manager Jerry Da3rton Circulation Manager R. L. Wyatt Typist Jane Wright Volume XIX. January 23, 1944. Number 7. A Bit Of Remembrance “The night has a thousand eyes” and the lighted windows of Edna Moore Dormitory through the blackness of a Monday night seemed to symbolize the outstanding spirit of Mars Hill college. As the misty shroud floated slowly to earth the campus seemed to assume an atti tude of complete serenity. In the blackness of despair and the turmoil of an unforgettable conflict we see students leave to join others who stand ready to sail the seas, march through mud, and touch the sky on the wings they have acquired. We see them go away with memories of a bell call ing those who have heard to worship on Sunday morning. They look back on society meetings, and the happy fellowship they experi enced there. As they go the sound of “Tell Me Why ...” goes with them as a part of the things they have loved and known. Just as they cherish those memories of the hill they look forward to learning even the small details of the activities here on the campus. “So little happens,” we say, but the election of new B.S.U. officers and that humorous debate in society could easily be the source of a remembering gleam in an old student’s eye. The small things in life are the ones that furnish the most delightful and me morable moments. Remember that the next time you pen a “master piece” to a former Mars Hillian—once a fellow student. —L. M. A Prayer Father Time On The Little Circle- The night is dark. The stars are dim. The moon plays “hide and seek” behind the clouds. The inhabitants of the village of Mars Hill slumber peacefully unaware that a dramatic scene which will change their future i.s about to take place. The hour is 11:26, the night is December 31st and the year—the year is one thousand nine hundi'ed and forty-four A.D. A stooped, tired, decrepit figure appears on what is commonly called little circle. (It really isn’t a circle—it is an elipse; it is not very little either; it is 70 Girl Scout paces from the chapel to Treat Dormitory and fifty Girl Scout paces from the music building to the road in front of Moore Hall.) But to get back to the stooped, tired, decrepit figure—because he is the hero of this paper and you just can’t have a hero appearing on little circle and let it go at that— anyway, the figure moves slowly—very slowly toward the flagpole. And as he walks, an abrupt realization strikes us and we recognize the figure. No wonder he is stooped, tired, and decrepit—;for he is Father Time! Father Time drags on until he reaches a bench next to the flagpole. He lets his shape drape on the bench and assumes the pose of that famous piece of statuary, “the Thinker.” He has this pose but a very few minutes. Then suddenly he jumps to his feet, straightens his stooped shoulders, opens his tired eyes wide, and a chill runs over his decrepit frame — “No, No, it can’t be.” He mut ters—he looks at his hour glass—then pulls back his sleeve; raises his wrist to his ear; listens anxiously to his “curved to fit the wrist” Bulova. “It is only 11:30,” he says, “and I didn’t forget to wind my watch last night. I don’t understand—it can’t be! But it is! Stand ing right there before him is a tiny little baby—yes, you’ve guessed it—standing right there before F’ather Time at 11:30 on December 31, 1944—is that precocious youngster, 1945. The shock is too much for Father Time. He sinks back onto the bench and points an accusing finger to the intruder: “What do you mean,” he demands, “I have half an hour left—thirty whole min utes—before you are even supposed to appear.” “Yeah, I know it. Don’t get excited, just calm yourself—I’m not trying to beat your time,” answers the youngster. “I just thought I would come a little early and have a talk with you—after all I’m new at this business. I kinda thought you might give me some advice.” “Advice? Humph! So that’s what you want? Do you have a note book and a pencil?” “Notebook and pencil? Of course not, I just got here.” “Well, look under that tree over there and you’ll probably find just what you need.” 1946 finds a notebook and pencil and returns to Father Time with a puzzled expression: “What kind of a place is this anyhow—books and .stuff under trees and bushes?” “This, my young friend, is Mars Hill Junior College,” re sponds Father Time. “Junior College — oh, and does everyone leave his books under a tree?” “Oh, no, not everyone—^just a few—the rest leave theirs on their desks unopened. That is one thing I wish you would do some thing about. Of course, you’ll have to be tactful—but I think you’ll be able to manage.” 1945 makes a ready promise: “Oh, sure, sure. I’ll tend to that right away.” “That’s my first piece of ad vice; my next is—by the way, do you have an umbrella?” “Umbrella? No—I don’t even have a hat.” “Well, you’d better get one quick—it rains up here often— or snows—sometimes it sleets— other times it does all three—so get an umbrella and I don’t mean a parasol.” “OK, Padre, where’ll I buy it?” LIGHTS ON LEADERS^ A thousand years is but a day to Thee, And there is naught but that Thine eye doth see. Take these few moments in our coming year. And in them grant us peace with out heart’s fear. Yet, before this petition Thou dost grant. Within our hearts new light Thou wilt implant. We are worthy of this toil and strife, For we have chosen how to guide this life. Dear Father, make us worthy of this peace. Then from this dark struggle grant us release. “Try the Variety Shop first— if you can’t get one there—you probably won’t find one. But back to my advice. I don’t sup pose you know what a classical “A classical—I Imagine that is something in a class all to itself.” “Right you are, my young friend, for the next few days you will hear much about classi- cals, and you’ll have quite a job getting them in on time—but you have one important factor on your side—New Year’s Reso lutions. Almost every student on the Mars Hill campus has made a long list of resolutions. And one on that list is to get papers in on time. Of course sooner or later every student will break every one of his resolutions. If you can keep the idea that this is a new year in their minds, the time will (Continued on Page 3) u LILLIAN MILLER heard A thousand times we’ve Thy voice quite clear, For fear of Thy commands, we would not hear. Take the unblemished moments of this year, Teach us Thy Son to love and to revere. Heal our broken hearts with Thy supreme love, End needless sacrifice of our be loved. Yet, before this petition Thou dost grant. Within our hearts new light Thou wilt implant. Make us worthy of this dread sacrifice. Then grant us some small taste of paradise. —Nancy Hunter. Keeping a scrapbook is lots of fun. Hers is a large black one with gold lettering, and it is now about three-fourths full. And did I enjoy inspecting it. She’s such a great girl; everybody knows about her honors, and I wouldn’t do her justice if I tried to ’splane about them, but this scrapbook now ... It contained memos and souvenirs of every thing from packing suitcase and trunk prior to matriculation last year to the up-to-the-minute snaps of reception. hoo ^ her i was inte Chir i disci Uti livii Ston .Shalt I’m a snoop reporter— newspaper language for a scri^^^ who gathers the dope on the ei)rayl tor when his back is turned. BiBsket honest, I couldn’t help doing You see, there I was in front * He BOB CHAPMAN Spilman when a good hot strolled across the street and socia Joining society was the most important singular event after arriving at MH, Sept., 1943. She’s a Nonpareil, in good stand ing, more or less. Personally we liked her best as she stood in the receiving line at reception. No, we liked her better when she, for the first time, picked up the gavel from the desk on that Thursday afternoon. No, it was when she presented the Euthalians with the Nonpareil gift . . . Here’s an advertisement from Baylor. She’s going down there next year to major in home eco nomics and ministers. Expects to do a little reporting there aussi. The facts some people hand around unguarded: When I grow too old to dream. I’ll have a cer tain navy chaplain to remember. Oh well. Anchors Aweigh! There must be a little foam in every body’s life. There’ve never been too many question marks in her life; at least she has never car ried a torch for anyone. She likes apple pie and worries about such technical matters as what keeps mayonnaise from emulsion-ing— some benighted process peculiar to certain foods she’s studying down in the lab. She guzzles (French for imbibes, steeps, etc.) coffee by the cups when laboring over the “Hilltop” during the wee hours. “I’m a part of all that I have met,” she quoted, and proceeded to write an unhonerificabilituda- narianistic (meaning wonderful here) essay on said subject. It appeared in the literary edition last year. Her affinity for poetry surpasses the love of whateveFs her second choice, and she goes around humming “Don’t Fence Me In.” We always use the superlative when we speak of her. Lil loves walking in the rain sans umbrella because it’s pleasureful and medi tationful, she says. She’s serious- minded and in earnest about all her activities; here in her scrap book are copies of Scriblerus club programs—she was first semester president; plans for Y.W.A.— she’s on the council; hints about “Hilltop”—she is the associate editor; plans for Sunday School— was class president; notes on cer tain rebutals—she’s an intercol legiate debater; won champion ship in women’s debating in (Continued on Page 4) didn’t have one scrap of paPjecor on hand. Then I saw that noMary book lying on the porch. Ailee Presii Well, I opened it, and whatjggj.g break! It was Bob—the editolRuth Chee! Now don’t get noser. Course I looked through it. AC body who keeps notes in fashion could . . . Here’s a bat j of “Hilltop” assignments. Ch« My name won’t even be on t page edged in black after „ “In 1924 the United Sta(y okayed the gold standard agmall . . .” Hmm, economics notes. N^ffnes this bunch of records here— yes, he is the general secret* . . ^ ■ngin; of the Sunday School. Look Vrigh this list of things he’s gotta h* mimeographed by Tuesday; >o La: he loves doing it so . . . Here’ar sel suggestion of his pet hobby, Aiwa bet. Begorra! He can do . . ’lyde paintings pretty well, pretty well; he likes poetry, too, [ig q1 kinds—Lil Miller’s particulaGh J etc. A memo? Orchestra prac^^t a] tonight at seven. He trums®^' dth ai trumpet. And he’s at home^j the piano too. Loves them ;idg from Stokoski to Tschaikow(ope I Lookahere. He’s one of tt Jane see-America-first guys. Has ^ .g*. on that week in New Orleans V—» those days in New Mexico. his current rolling stone will c duct him out to Yellowstone ■ tional. This is a note tacked about the library staff. He joys working behind the desk Estella N. Montague. something else he enjoys— ing steaks. RARE? Which here"' minds me, he’s really a hfetyles working guy, and an enthusi*range. editor with lots of Vitamin in his system. (Vitamin Gee, * eh Mile. Lane.) These clippings, now, i Scrib Club—he, by the wal the new vice president. I laugh and laugh when I of those Little Audrey joke- told us last meeting. Oy*ti .(Steal Think I’ll go over and talk' him a bit; surely am glad he’C editor. Hey, what’s this note ^ in here on the last page? ^ Ci oul, it s m French] He sur«^ a wim and wigor word He’s such a swell person-ali* can’t pry any more, so I’H Mays write -30- and close the book put it back on the porch wh*»«wi= found it.
Mars Hill University Student Newspaper
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Jan. 23, 1945, edition 1
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